


Another Chance

by melody1987



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Telltale Series (Video Game)
Genre: Fix It Fic, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rehabilitation, but a buttloada ANGST that’s fer darn sure, maybe some filth later on, spoilers if you havent played the latest ep, villain route
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-04-16 23:32:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14175738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melody1987/pseuds/melody1987
Summary: How episode 5's villain route shoulda ended





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the 100% totally absolutely canon account of what happens when John asks why you saved him and you choose to let Bruce remain silent.
> 
> Thanks to [Keats112](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keats112/pseuds/Keats112) for giving it a once over and [Merixcil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merixcil/pseuds/Merixcil) for giving it a nip 'n' tuck.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. 

Sitting on top of a bruised and bloody John, desperately trying to revive him and fighting the hopelessness that grows with every moment he doesn’t respond, an equally battered Bruce wonders how something that’d once been so good could turn so bad. Or rather, how it all could’ve gone downhill so  _ fast _ . Maybe later, with time, he’ll be able to unpick all the tangled threads, work out where it all started to go so horribly, horribly wrong but, for now, all he knows is that no matter how bad it is, he isn’t ready for it to end. 

Not like this.

These thoughts fire off at a mile a minute even as the moment seems to stretch into a lifetime and Bruce tries to come to terms with the fact that he might never get the chance to fix it. But then, with a sharp intake of breath, the body underneath him moves and relief hits Bruce hard enough to make him dizzy.

Disoriented green eyes open and slowly turn towards him. John’s voice, when he eventually speaks, is soft and raspy and full of wonder.

“You...you saved me.”

Bruce thinks,  _ of course I fucking did_, and wants to shake him because the surprise on John’s face means either they don’t know each other as well as they thought they did or that John believes he’s worth so little now that Bruce wouldn’t bother to revive him. It’s enough to break Bruce’s heart all over again. 

“Why?” John continues. “You could’ve let me die...no one would’ve blamed you…”

No, no they wouldn’t. In fact, they’d all be lining up to thank him. But Bruce...he’d never forgive himself. Not just because of the code but because looking at John now, seeing not the maniacal nightmare he’s trying so hard to be but a man broken and lost, it makes his chest constrict with something that almost brings him to tears. 

And it makes him want to scream. Scream and shout and rant and rave, berate John for all the stupid, awful things he’s done and himself for everything he did to bring them here. But instead he swoops down, pressing his lips hard against John’s because talking hasn’t worked, if anything it’s only made things worse, so he’ll let this answer for him instead.

It’s only a quick kiss and as he pulls away, Bruce looks at John to see if he finally _understands_. But John doesn’t move, just stares at Bruce, eyes blown wide with something unreadable. It was a gamble, Bruce knows that, and he opens his mouth ready to  _ beg _ John to tell him how to make it all better, how to fix it. But hands latch onto his shoulders and pull him back down to a mouth that seems intent on stealing every last bit of breath from his lungs.

The kiss is frantic and desperate and almost as brutal as their fight had been just moments ago. Lips, teeth and tongues clashing again and again. Painful, but nothing compared to the anguish he feels spilling out of John. Sharp and potent, it mingles with Bruce’s own grief to flood his veins and make the kiss all the more urgent.

John lets out a whimper and can’t seem to decide whether to pull Bruce closer or push him away, a fist hitting Bruce’s ribs as another grips his jaw, his neck, his hair. Teeth sink into Bruce's lower lip hard enough to draw blood, the sting sending him rearing back before hands come up to hold him in place and a tongue runs along the bite to lap up the blood.

When Bruce leans back into the kiss the air changes between them, turning into something for Bruce and John rather than Batman and Joker and bringing John Doe all the way back to the surface. Bruce tucks his arms underneath John’s shoulders to hold him as close as he possibly can and let the love he’s hidden away ever since John confessed his love for someone else wash over them both.

And he thinks John can feel it, even if he won’t yet let himself believe it, because John lets out another soft whimper before a shudder runs along the entire length of his body, kiss faltering as his shoulders shake, hands tremble and the whimper turns to a sob. 

He presses his face into Bruce’s and his fingers dig in as if holding on for dear life. And Bruce doesn’t say a word, just keeps one arm around his waist and pushes them into a sitting position, which isn’t easy when Bruce is on the verge of collapse. Then, with John in his lap, let’s him cry it all out and ignores the tears beginning to run silently down his own face. 

Bruce isn’t sure how long they sit there but when sirens whine in the distance, he knows their time is up. Time to face the music. 

John isn’t ready, though, grip on Bruce somehow growing even tighter and it takes a surprising amount of effort to pull John’s head up to face him. His makeup is smeared all over his face and Bruce lifts a thumb to wipe away what he thinks is blood but could just as easily be lipstick. And, looking at him now, sad eyes and downturned mouth, there doesn’t seem to be a trace of Joker left. He looks utterly defeated and when he speaks his voice is so quiet Bruce has to lean right in to hear it.

“I don’t wanna go back.”

For one very quick and selfish moment Bruce considers telling him he doesn’t have to. Arkham hardly did much good the first time around. But whatever John’s reasons, he’s still hurt a lot of people and Bruce wouldn’t let anyone else get away with it. He can’t let John be the exception.

“I know, but you have to.”

He can tell John was expecting this reply by the way he slumps forward and rests his head heavily on Bruce’s shoulder, arms dangling lifelessly at his sides. Bruce wraps his arms around John’s waist to hold him close once again. Although he can’t save John from another spell in the asylum, he can make sure things are different this time, make sure John actually gets the help he needs. And offer the support he should’ve provided first time around.

“But...you won’t be alone.”

There’s no response whatsoever and as John isn’t pushing him away Bruce takes it as a tentative sign to continue.

“I’ll be here.”

John’s head whips up and his gaze is loaded with so much scepticism that it almost makes Bruce flinch. But Bruce can’t really blame him for it, he hasn’t exactly been an exemplary friend. He’s going to have to _earn_ John’s trust this time. 

Which he’s more than ready to do. 

The sirens are louder now, the cops almost here, and Bruce wishes he had just a little longer. A sentiment John seems to share because suddenly his mouth is on Bruce’s again, although much, much softer than before, more a brushing of lips than a kiss. But Bruce is willing to take it as a sign that, even if John is sceptical, he’s willing to give Bruce another chance. 

And Bruce will take it. 

There’s no fuss when John is taken away, he lets the cops cuff him without a word and doesn’t look Bruce’s way even once as he’s loaded into the van. Which is fine, Bruce tells himself, it’s fine. John just needs -

It’s fine.

Bruce’s eyes remain fixed on the van as it drives away and, just as it’s about to round the corner, John’s eyes finally lock with his. And remain that way until the van disappears from sight. 

[](http://i.imgur.com/TNfsPE1)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this ended up getting another chapter, apparently

John Doe isn’t allowed any visitors for the first two months. Which is understandable. Makes sense. He needs time and space to recover and, honestly, so does Bruce. Time to let the dust settle as a sense of normalcy, or whatever comes closest, returns to Gotham. 

It makes sense. Perfect,  _ perfect _ sense.

But that doesn’t mean Bruce likes it.

It’s been just over a week and he’s itching with the need (he’s not even going to pretend it’s a want) to see John, check he’s okay, that he’s getting what he needs. He knows from experience, however limited his own might be, that Arkham is barely adequate at its best and a lot could go wrong in the space of two months. Especially when they’ve decided to lock John up in the maximum security wing. Another decision Bruce _understands_ but certainly doesn’t agree with because, while John has undoubtedly done terrible things, Bruce doesn’t believe he’s an inherently terrible person. He just needs some guidance, someone to give his moral compass a nudge in the right direction. Bruce can’t see that happening when he’s surrounded by Arkham’s most dangerous inmates.

Not for the first time, he considers marching down there and using the full weight of his name and wallet to demand they let him in. But, as always, the urge lasts a second before he reminds himself why that isn’t a good idea. Throwing his weight around like a spoilt child won’t do anyone any good and undermining the staff won’t inspire the confidence John’s going to need in the people supposed to help him. Bruce is just going to have to accept that this is something he can’t control. For now.

Not so very long ago there would’ve been a third option. But not anymore.

_ “I’m leaving Bruce. It’s time I went in search of better pastures.” _

It wasn’t an easy choice - Batman or Alfred - but it also wasn’t quite as difficult as Bruce expected. Because, in the end, there are a lot of ways to help Gotham but only one Alfred Pennyworth and with all the people Bruce has lost in this fight so far, he can’t bear to lose any more.

He feels the weight of it, though, hanging far more heavily on his shoulders than the cape and armour ever did. Feels it in the way his skin prickles whenever he sees the signal lighting up the sky. The way it calls and pulls at him, begging him to answer. And he almost did, the night before last. Almost ran down to the cave and buried himself in the safety and comfort that Kevlar has always provided, not to necessarily go anywhere or do anything, just needing...

_ Needing _ ...

Which was why Bruce stopped himself before he could, understanding then more than ever Alfred’s warning of obsession. When something becomes a compulsion, no matter it’s original intent, it has to end. And the guilt will subside one day. Or, at least, he hopes it will. He hasn’t abandoned Gotham, he’s still going to fight, it’s just going to take a little longer to see the results. 

And Arkham’s where he plans to begin. He’s well aware of the potential conflict of interest but doesn’t let it deter him because Arkham needs the help - and would have gotten it regardless of who’s being treated there. But Arkham isn’t willing to see it that way just yet, the board of directors using his association with John as a means to keep him out. But Bruce won’t give up that quickly, no matter how dirty they’re willing to fight.

He’s still replaying the phone call that ended a few minutes ago when Alfred walks in, and the frustration must be written all over Bruce’s face if the look he receives is anything to go by.

“What is it this time?” Alfred asks, sliding the lunch tray into what free space he can find on the desk. 

Bruce sighs and rubs his eyes. “Co-conspirator. An inside man for the attack on Wayne Enterprises.”

Alfred’s eyes go wide with indignation. “Good lord, really? That’s rather low, even for them.”

“It’s alright. They dropped it at the first mention of a lawyer.”

Alfred nods but doesn’t say anything, handing Bruce his coffee. When he does finally speak, there’s hesitation in his voice.

“Have you thought…” he pauses and Bruce knows what’s coming. They’ve had this conversation before, when Bruce first told him of his plans. “I know your reasons for wanting to fix Arkham but perhaps you should wait. It isn’t the only place that can use you. When they see the good you’re doing elsewhere, they’re likely to be far more obliging.”

It’s not a bad idea. Bruce can’t really blame Arkham’s hesitation for bringing him on board because, even before all the scandal and tragedy, he was never a figure people looked to for guidance, but...

John. While Bruce is out there  _ proving himself _ , John has to endure the malpractice associated with Arkham for as long as Bruce can remember and...it isn’t fair. Bruce can’t do that to him. And it’s not just John, all of Arkham’s patients will benefit from the changes he wants to make, so he can’t give up yet. He needs to keep pushing and if that means even using Arkham’s money problems to his own advantage, so be it.

Just like the frustration moments ago, the determination is now clear on Bruce’s face because he doesn’t have to say a word for Alfred to nod.

“Very well, sir.”

And that’s the last he says on the matter.

-

John is still very much at the forefront of Bruce’s mind two days later as he attends Regina’s funeral. Sitting in the pue, memories come flooding back of another funeral, with John sitting beside him, awkward and jittery and looking utterly lost but trying his very best not to. Back then, Bruce hadn’t known what to do with him but now he can only dream of returning to a time when things seemed so much simpler between them. Perhaps one day they’ll get back there. Bruce can only hope.

And the card John had gotten him, that awful fucking card of the teddy bear with the band aids on its head and a thermometer in its mouth...Bruce has to cover his mouth because he wants to smile and it makes him sick with remorse immediately after. He shouldn’t be feeling anything close to fondness for the man who’d had a part in Regina’s death, he should hate him, and isn’t ready to consider what it says about himself that he doesn’t.

Bruce only stays at the wake long enough to offer his condolences to the family. Throughout the service he’s had more than a few questionable looks and it may be the guilt talking but he’s sure their eyes are asking why it isn’t Bruce in Regina’s place. 

He’d tell them that he would’ve been if he could but doubts they’d want to hear it.

As soon as he returns home Bruce hunts down the card. He’d kept it for an impulse he hadn’t been able to name back then and spends a good ten minutes in his study staring at it. John really...he’d been trying so hard that day and it makes Bruce’s chest ache. Bruce could have -  _ should  _ have - done so much more.

But he can  _ now _ and the card has provided inspiration. A way of contacting John without having to visit. It might be a terrible idea, the joke falling utterly flat but he doesn’t know what else to do. He isn’t going to even attempt writing a letter, wouldn’t have the first idea about what to write and whatever he did write would probably be the wrong thing, anyway. He’ll try the card and, at the very least, John will know Bruce hasn’t forgotten him.

-

The first meeting with the Arkham board doesn’t go badly but it definitely could’ve gone better. They haven’t flat out refused him, though, so Bruce takes it as a small victory. He’s careful not to mention too many of his plans for reform just yet and is sure to make it clear that his chequebook is very much available for use, which definitely tips a few members in his favour. The rest he’ll just have to charm or hope the others overrule.

On the way out he makes sure he catches Dr Leland. She’s immediately on the defense, hands going up to ward him off.

“I already told you -”

“It’s alright,” Bruce assures her. “I’m not here to try and change your mind.”

He pulls the card from the inside pocket of his jacket and hands it over.

“I just wanted John to have this.”

Leland tentatively accepts the card and, after giving it a thorough once over, frowns. It’s not an exact copy of the one John had given him but it continues the teddy bear theme at least. And...from an outsider’s point of view probably seems pretty tasteless.

“Get better soon?” Leland looks up at him and it’s a wonder she can even lift her eyebrow with the judgement it’s carrying.

“It’s a joke. A...private one. He’ll understand.” 

Hopefully.

Leland looks at Bruce for a long time before sighing softly and nodding.

“I’ll pass it along.”

“Thank you,” Bruce says, although whether John will ever see the card remains to be seen. He turns, ready to leave but Leland seems to have more to say.

“I hear you’re joining us.”

Bruce offers the most casual shrug he can. “Trying to.”

There’s a pause before Leland continues and Bruce can sense where this is going. “Mister Wayne…I welcome the help, believe me I do, but John -”

It’s Bruce’s turn to hold up his hands. “I’m not here to interfere. I just. Seeing John when he left here, how much he struggled...Arkham needs help and I want  _ all  _ of its patients to get the very best care they can. Not left to fend for themselves the moment they’re released.”

Leland’s posture stiffens and Bruce is ready to assure her he isn’t laying the blame at her feet but her anger doesn’t seem to be directed at Bruce. And, this time, when she speaks, her voice is softer. Sadder.

“Our budget’s so tight, we can’t help them all. And John…” 

Her voice turns almost wistful, like she’s reminiscing about an old friend. And, in a way, perhaps she is. John had been here for years, Arkham really the only place he could call home and the staff, well, they were the closest thing John Doe had to a family, it seemed.

“He seemed so ready to leave. I don’t know...I really thought he’d be okay.” Leland’s voice softens even more. “Guess I was wrong.”

“That’s why I want to help.” Bruce can’t imagine having to choose between patients, deciding which can get the help they need and which are left to go it alone. The whole thing was just so  _ wrong _ .

Leland offers a very small smile. “Well, I can’t say we’re in a position to refuse it.” The smile drops and the softness fades away completely. “But if you think for a second it’ll mean you can bend the rules, think again.”

Bruce won’t argue with that. Wouldn’t dare with Leland. And seeing her attitude, refusal to give even someone like Bruce Wayne what he wants, it gives him hope. Perhaps John will be okay after all.

-

Bruce tries not to count down the days.  _ Really _ tries. But with every day that John doesn’t respond, Bruce grows more and more anxious. Maybe the card really was a bad idea. He should’ve gone with a letter instead or just left well enough alone. He could call Leland, check she actually handed the card over but, remembering their talk, is sure it’ll just make her even less inclined to allow any correspondence in future. 

So he fills his days with as much distraction as he can, helping his business recover from the tragic events that took place as well as more meetings at Arkham. And it’s two weeks after sending the card, during a rare moment where he  _ isn’t _ thinking about John, that Alfred approaches, envelope in hand.

“From Arkham,” he says and Bruce is careful not to appear too eager as the envelope’s handed over. 

Inside is a folded sheet of paper and, opening it, he sees a drawing of a teddy bear. A rush of feeling hits Bruce so strong that he has to grab a chair and sit down. 

John’s replied. After all this wait and worry, John’s  _ finally  _ replied and...he got the joke. He’s playing along. Bruce isn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. Maybe both. 

He looks up to see Alfred’s already left and, allowed the privacy, studies the drawing some more. The bear’s wearing a t shirt with the Arkham logo emblazoned on the chest, a lock of hair dangling down its forehead. Bruce assumes it’s meant to represent John and, when he catches the band aids crossed over its heart, the sting in his eyes grows stronger. He isn’t sure what that’s supposed to mean - is John’s heart broken, too? - but rather than waste time figuring it out, hunts down paper and pen to write a reply.

_ Are you okay? _

Bruce screws the sheet into a ball and reaches for a new one. Not words. If John’s happy with pictures they’ll stick with that for now. Bruce’s artistic talents leave a lot to be desired and it takes him three tries before he manages to draw something that actually looks like a teddy bear, giving it a suit and tie, and puts  _ R  _ and  _ U  _ for eyes, with  _ OKAY _ forming the mouth. 

Slotting it into an envelope, Bruce posts it as soon as he’s able and hopes he won’t have to wait another fortnight for a response.

-

Four days later and, this time, John-bear has a sad face. And, in keeping with Bruce’s design, uses  _ N  _ and  _ O  _ instead of eyes. Band aids are still covering its heart and it’s standing at a window, clutching the bars. 

It takes Bruce a while to decide what to send back. Should he say sorry? That he’ll be visiting soon? In the end he takes John’s picture and adds to it, putting Bruce-bear’s paw over John’s as a show of support. It’s all he can think of doing. God, even with pictures he’s struggling. 

Slipping it into a fresh envelope, Bruce posts it, wondering if John will deem it worthy of a response. 

-

John does and, for the next few weeks, they continue to exchange drawings, Bruce tucking each one into the same drawer as the original sympathy card. With every reply he gets, the anxiety dulls to be replaced with excitement because they may not be able to see one another but at least they’re communicating. 

Some of the drawings even make Bruce laugh, like the one that has John-bear being sick, a complaint about the quality of Arkham’s food. And it’s bizarre, a thirty-something man doodling teddy bears for an inmate of an asylum. But it feels good, surprisingly so, and when the two month wait nears its end, for the first time in far longer than Bruce can remember, he’s feeling almost positive.  

Until, that is, he sends a picture of Bruce-bear sitting at a table with his version of John-bear sitting opposite, meant to signify Bruce’s first visit. John’s reply takes longer than usual and what he gets is his own drawing returned with John-bear scribbled out. Underneath the drawing are two words and they make Bruce’s heart feel as if it’s made of lead:

_ Not ready. _

For a long time Bruce just stares at the picture, the words taking forever to sink in. 

John isn’t ready.

Bruce can’t deny that he’s disappointed. The first visit has been in his mind constantly since the day John was locked away and he thought John would be as eager to see him as he was to see John, but apparently not. 

He tries to figure out if he’s done something wrong and what he can do to fix it, tempted to forgo a picture this time and ask by writing John a letter instead. But he can’t do that, not when the pictures have been working so well. It’d likely only frighten John away, which could have disastrous consequences this early in his rehabilitation.

So, looking at the picture once more, Bruce tries to think of something to send back, eventually settling for Bruce-bear standing behind John-bear, arms wrapped around him to show that Bruce understands and will give John as much time as he needs. 

When the reply comes of John-bear returning the hug, Bruce sighs, as if a breath has been lodged in his throat and he’s only now able to let it out. And over the weeks that follow he’s careful never to push, just sticks to telling John what he’s been up to through the medium of terribly drawn teddy bears in suits. Whenever he visits Arkham for meetings he’s determined not to glance in the direction of the maximum security wing - but fails more often than he succeeds. On the rare occasions he sees Leland, he’ll ask after John but only ever gets vague assurances that he’s doing well. And Bruce knows patient confidentiality won’t let her reveal much more but still - she could give him  _ something _ ?

“Just give him time,” she says, but after almost five months Bruce is tempted to ask just how much more John’s going to need. And now, more than ever, he’s tempted to suit up and scale Gotham’s rooftops once more. The equipment’s still there in the cave, just waiting to be used, the pull lessening with time but nowhere close to being gone completely. Nobody would know and even if Alfred did find out, Bruce wouldn’t actually be Batman, just using the equipment as a means to see John. That’s not so bad, is it?

His gut answers for him, twisting uncomfortably to remind him that if he has to work this hard to justify it then, yes, it  _ is  _ that bad. And, from there, with nothing but board meetings and paperwork to fill his days and only the drawings from John to look forward to, Bruce’s mood plummets to a point where even Alfred will only speak to him when he  _ has _ to. 

-

_ I’m ready _ .

It’s written underneath a picture that’s almost exactly like the one Bruce sent him, the two teddy bears sitting across the table from one another. But John-bear isn’t scribbled out this time and he has a smile on his face, although the band aids still form a cross over his heart. Bruce looks forward to the day he’ll be able to peel them off.

And suddenly the ill temper is replaced with an anxiety Bruce hasn’t felt for quite some time, like fear and excitement are having a fist fight in his stomach. He wonders whether to take John a gift before remembering that this is the maximum security wing of an asylum, although they’re letting John use crayons so maybe…

No. Best just to take things one step at a time. See John, confirm first hand that he’s as okay as Leland says he is and go from there. They’ll have plenty of time for the rest later.

The visit is scheduled for the following Tuesday, which gives Bruce an entire four day wait and he can’t remember when a period of time ever passed this slowly. But the day soon arrives and Bruce is stood outside the gates of Arkham asylum, barely able to conceal the nervousness that keeps him on the verge of being sick. 

As he’s led down the long corridors of the asylum, Bruce wonders if John is feeling the same. Or maybe he’s just excited, bouncing around in his cell, hands clasped together and that wide toothy grin on his face. Just the thought of that smile and the way it makes those green eyes sparkle is enough for Bruce to want to turn tail and run. He isn’t ready to see John’s smile yet, he hasn’t done enough to earn it.

So preoccupied with thoughts of John, Bruce doesn’t realise they’ve reached their destination until Doctor Leland greets him. He shakes her hand as she says words he doesn’t register, too busy telling himself to concentrate to actually do it, but she doesn’t seem to be offended, offering a sympathetic smile before opening the door.

Bruce steps into a small room that’s divided into two by a glass wall. A small table and a chair are set up against the glass, the same arranged to mirror it on the other side and there’s a guard waiting by the other door, but no sign of John just yet.

Bruce takes a seat in the uncomfortable metal chair and clasps his hands together to hide the tremors.

After a wait that feels like an hour but isn’t actually any more than five minutes, the guard on the other side of the glass opens the door and Bruce struggles to remember to breathe. He hears the rattle of chains and the soft shuffle of footsteps and his heart beats so hard it’s a wonder it isn’t audible to everyone in the asylum. 

_ It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay. It’ll be  _ okay.

A pale pair of hands are the first part of John to come into view, quickly followed by the rest of him and Bruce goes completely still. He’s waited six months, three weeks and four days to get here but now, with John standing just a few feet away, he doesn’t feel ready and the urge to bolt returns tenfold. But when John turns and lifts his eyes to meet Bruce’s, they freeze Bruce in place and any thoughts of running away are forgotten.

Bruce wouldn’t be able to move right now even if the entire universe depended on it.

John shuffles forward, never breaking eye contact as he takes his seat, and a silence falls between them that gains Bruce an understanding of what people mean when they call it deafening. 

John’s the first to eventually break it, leaning forward ever so slightly. And, with a voice that's soft and strangely flat, he says,

“Hey, buddy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bruce giving John the card was inspired by [**this**](http://leftnipsdoodles.tumblr.com/post/172534708672/i-got-the-ending-where-bruce-visits-john-in-arkham).
> 
> Apologies for the lack of Juce interaction for this one but there’s plenty of that to come next chapter onwards, promise. I’ve got a vague outline for where this is gonna go but I can’t make any guarantees for update speed. Anyone who follows my fics will know I’m not the fastest writer (this chapter is pretty short and still took me forever) but I’ll try my best :)


End file.
